


hand in hand, on the edge of the sand

by hidley



Category: Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson
Genre: Comfort, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Gets a wee bit saucy at the end but nothing bold and easily skippable, M/M, Origins of the moominvalley bridge, Reminiscing, spoilers: snufkin was NOT on board at first, they are in love, you only miss a mumrik trying to propose and a moomin obliviously trying to get laid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:15:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26594305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hidley/pseuds/hidley
Summary: He didn’t know then that it had been the start of another chapter in his life, nor did he know how turbulent and endless a chapter it would be, but he had been young and reckless and in love.Although, he didn’t yet know that either.——Snufkin returns from his winter travels a little early.He spends the extra time appreciating the life he has made for himself, and the person he shares it with.
Relationships: Mumintrollet | Moomintroll/Snusmumriken | Snufkin
Comments: 10
Kudos: 65





	hand in hand, on the edge of the sand

Snufkin drew up at the bridge without a sound.

His harmonica was tucked away deep inside his dress pocket, and the tall, blue house before him lay still and quiet.

The crows and cuckoos hadn’t risen yet, and the valley was cold and misty with the apprehension of spring. It had been many years since Snufkin had been home this early after his travels, and he was, for a moment, quite stunned at its beauty.

His boots crunched underneath the lingering frosts, dark with dew and mud from the forest. They left prints on the wood of the bridge as he crossed it.

It creaked under him, and he paused, shifting his weight back and forth. The old planks creaked and groaned as they rubbed together. His hand stopped on the railing, and he ran his callous thumb over the damp moss on its surface.

He remembered when this bridge was first built.

The commotion over a such a simple thing had been astonishing. Snufkin had only known the family for a season before the father, he now knew as Moominpappa, decided that he and Mamma had grown far too dignified to hop over the small stream that separated them from the wood, and that he would, with great skill and consideration, be building a bridge to tie the two worlds together.

The construction had begun immediately, and Pappa got as far as blueprinting and pegging where he knew the bridge would go, before he ran off to the cliffs for a fortnight, bringing with him only his easel and the occasional picnic basket from his wife.

The bank was thus left unmarred, and Snufkin remembers having to retire his plans to protest, burying his tools in the woods and thinking how thankful it was that he wouldn’t have to fight Moomintroll’s own father so soon into their acquaintance.

As far as he had been concerned, that had been that, and so he settled his attention back into his primary concerns at the time; fishing and making friends, one being much easier and more comforting than the other.

However, under the cover of night, the unthinkable happened. Snufkin, in an unforgivable act of negligence, slept right through Moominpappa’s unapologetic and grievous crime against nature and woke to the offensive stink of turpentine and the less offensive but still striking sound of laughter.

He had grabbed his hat and bolted from his tent, staring at the new bridge, which was covered from front to back with the Moomin family, laughing together and applying a crimson varnish to every inch of it.

He stared at Moominpappa as he recounted his grand adventure across the valley, how the little bridge had never left his mind and he had _never_ in his life left a project unfinished once he had started. Little My had leapt up on the railing at that and thrown the entire pot of varnish straight over his head.

The howl that resulted was one Pappa would never once admit to in the years following, but it rang in Snufkin’s ears like a siren and, to his infinite surprise, drew a giggle from him.

Blue eyes set upon him at once, and Moomin had jumped, calling his name and waving so enthusiastically that he slipped and fell straight on his tail. He had quickly shaken off his surprise and scrambled back up, pushing past his screeching father and ran straight up to Snufkin’s tent, fur covered in patches of sticky brown and beaming at him so gorgeously, that Snufkin hadn’t the breath to greet him.

He had known something then, though he hadn’t paused to look upon it, as he was hurled to his feet and fled with Moomin’s paw in his towards the chaos. Mamma set upon him immediately and asked if he’d join them for breakfast. Little My jumped from the railing to his shoulders in inexplicable familiarity and climbed inside his hat, as if she knew full well how perfectly she’d fit there.

And Moomin’s eyes stayed on him, pleading and bright. And Snufkin answered that he would be delighted.

And so that season turned over and they greeted Summer with brand new absurdities. Moomin showed Snufkin the beach and the mountains and the deepest depths of the forest. He whispered with him about witches and fairies lurking in every tree and wishes to be granted on each full moon. He sought him out, day after day until Snufkin was quite exhausted, to which his friend would then curiously disappear, or at least keep his distance, waving at him from the veranda where he might have before dragged him up to sit there with him.

And Snufkin didn’t think much of it, as was his way, but continued to set his camp up in the patch beside that accursed bridge, and found himself lingering in the valley until the first snows began to fall.

He didn’t know then that it had been the start of another chapter in his life, nor did he know how turbulent and endless a chapter it would be, but he had been young and reckless and in love.

Although, he didn’t yet know that either.

Presently, Snufkin sighed. He gazed up at the house again, mind soft with memory.

Moomin’s window was still shut, as there had been nothing yet to pull the troll from hibernation. Many times, his friend had recalled to him how he so often woke in the middle of winter and had to go seeking his own private adventures in order to wear himself out again.

He never mentioned it, but secretly, Snufkin found that little fact about Moomin desperately attractive. Even with a nature that called him to sleep away a quarter of the year, Moomin was still so unique and special and brilliant that he woke up again anyway, just to see a bit more of the world before he succumbed to his nature once more.

Snufkin knew it hadn't always been something pleasant, but over the years Moomin had come to enjoy his yearly solitude so much that he had even began to extend it once the warmer seasons arrived. Of course he still greeted spring and Snufkin just has joyously as he always had, but quite often he would steal off somewhere, into the woods or up a mountain, and return later in the day or even the next, eyes sparkling and shoulders so light Snufkin fancied the troll might float straight off into the clouds.

And more often than not, Snufkin could then look forward to a special evening being guided to some new, wonderful sight that Moomin had discovered and, with each passing year, Moomin managed to surprise him more and more with something he had never seen before.

It was what, in the end, resulted in Snufkin’s eventual acceptance of his own feelings or, more accurately, his courage to act upon them.

The comfort that Moomin had grown into his own person, with interests and loves outside of Snufkin himself, held the mumrik together during one especially incredible evening, as he took Moomin’s paws in his and asked if he’d be so kind as to allow Snufkin to court him.

He presented the argument that he was a very neat and polite mumrik and although not entirely respectable, he promised to love Moomin until the fur fell out of his tail and the sun burned out.

He had been quite proud of that little speech, and Moomin certainly seemed to enjoy it, as he burst into tears at once and clung to his new love all the rest of the day, much of the next week and then, when permitted, ever since.

And thus their courtship had begun.

And Snufkin had been absolutely terrified. 

He’d thrown himself into a confession without a single solitary thought as to how to proceed after the fact, and so, in what was certainly not his finest hour, he had bolted from the valley two days after. 

He reasoned to Moomintroll later that it had been a _calculated_ bolt and not one borne of regret, however in the end it made very little difference.

When he returned with a notebook full of ideas, rituals from both mumrik and moomin alike, poems, as well as a few unsavoury suggestions from the Joxter that he had cautiously added in at the end, in very small script, he had been met not with his love waiting for him, but with a very red, very furious Snorkmaiden who had intercepted him on the bridge and given him a firm, loving, clip round the ear.

He had yowled, and it had driven Moomintroll out of his window at once, but Snorkmaiden made full use of the time it took him to run down to the stream, hissing at him about one very particular, very important Moomin courting custom that he had somehow in his research _failed_ to account for.

“A consideration - for ones - BELOVED!” She shrieked at him, hitting the hat off his head.

Moomintroll had thankfully intercepted any further attack with a gentle paw on her shoulder, and talked her down whilst Snufkin flapped wildly to catch his hat before it fell in the river.

That day, Snufkin learned for the first time what it was like for Moomin to be truly upset with him, and no amount of assurances or words of forgiveness could stop the awful feeling from taking up a home right in the centre of his chest. For weeks it was unbearable, and he spent every day taking Moomin for long, romantic walks on the beach, making them picnics to take with them up Lonely Mountain and seeking out secret lagoons that they could swim under the moonlight.

Eventually, Moomin had to sit him down and very gently explain to him that none of this, what they had come to mean to each other, required any more of him than what he had already been offering as his friend, and that whilst all the trips and sweet nothings and humbling attempts at playing house were _lovely_ , he’d much rather have Snufkin calm and happy than frantic and attentive.

He only asked if he could, perhaps, not run off immediately after such a life changing moment without telling him first?

Snufkin had acquiesced, sheepish, but privately kept that dreadful feeling tucked away inside him, just as a reminder if he felt himself starting getting too distant.

Together, they had learned a lot about compromise and how best to work with their conflicting natures over the course of several summers. It hadn’t been as difficult at Snufkin had feared; Moomintroll had turned out to be quite the untraditional Moomin and Snufkin had to admit that he wasn’t, that is to say, the most mumrik of mumriks.

Years in the valley had softened his heart as well as his belly, and he hadn’t been as sore to accept a few added comforts as he had expected, and hoped, to be.

One of the biggest surprises was when Snufkin started making a habit of coming inside the house when the weather got bad; a shallow and transparent excuse to spend time in his love’s bedroom, but one that everyone very kindly overlooked.

Except perhaps Little My, but after the first few dozen comments, Snufkin soon found ways to keep her quiet. The best of them involved a lock on Moomin’s door, and several deep cupboards.

Moomintroll’s bed was soft and warm and the rain, though beautiful, so often meant he woke up damp and cold when he stayed in his tent. And although on his travels that was something he cherished, a by product of living true to oneself, there just didn’t seem any need when he had somewhere so nice to steal away to, and such a wonderful Moomin to keep him company.

So yes. Perhaps he had gotten into the habit of sleeping on a mattress when the weather was at all unfavourable, and perhaps it had also made it a little more difficult to settle on the ground during the long winters, but Snufkin had long since made peace with it all, concluding that it was a small price to pay for those endless, loving nights with Moomintroll.

His body ached a little for it now, as he stood getting chilled on the bridge, having still not yet made it to the other side. But he was smiling and filled to the brim with love, which in the end could probably keep him warm just as well as any fireplace.

At length, he walked up the path to Moominhouse.

Their ladder had been pulled up in the autumn, no doubt to prevent a repeat of the year before, when the wind had blown it straight through one of the windows, and so Snufkin let himself in the front door, which was unlocked. 

There had been a time when this house made him feel afraid. Despite the large windows and literal tree in the centre of the living room, Snufkin had always preferred keeping himself away from the domesticities of the family and out in the wilderness. He had never once been judged for it, and it had made for an easy transition once the time came for Moomin to strike out and build his own house. 

Moomin had told him one sunny afternoon in May, prefacing it with soft assurances that it meant nothing in terms of their relationship and he didn't expect anything to come of it. He just needed to establish his own space. It had been important to him. 

Snufkin had warmly given his approval, but there had been no denying the anxiety that built within him with every passing day from when the construction began. Moomin had chosen a beautiful patch of land in the woods, dark, mossy timber for the walls and thanked each and every tree for its service with infinite care. It took only three months to finish and was all anyone could talk about all the time during. 

Snufkin had been the first to see the finished house. Moomin had led him by the paw in the early evening, insisting he keep his eyes closed until he was instructed otherwise.

Snufkin remembered the quiet between them that night. They walked through the forest together, Moomin's thumb stroking his and Snufkin with his eyes dutifully closed, though he didn't need them a jot with his love's careful maneuvering. The only time he spoke was to warn him softly of approaching branches or roots that might trip him, guiding him over them as though Snufkin didn't know the names of every one. 

When they got to the clearing, and Snufkin was permitted with a kiss to open his eyes, there was at first, no recognising it. 

The house sat squarely in the centre of the clearing, with doors and windows clearly signifying it, but apart from that it looked nothing like a house at all. The outside had been covered in thick branches, foliage and mosses in such a way that made it appear hundreds of years old, and any hard lines had been thoroughly blended into the ground and the surrounding trees so, if one didn't know better, one would think they had stumbled across something of the forest itself. A thrill ran through Snufkin then, as one always did when he came across a new, colossal feat of nature, before it was swept away with the dawning awe that his Moomintroll had built this, and it was where he would now spend most of his adult life.

Oh, how envious he was! 

"May I look inside?" he had asked, and Moomintroll had smiled so wide, his ears flapped.

The troll still hibernated in Moominhouse, as was his preference, and it was where Snufkin returned to, each spring.

And it was where, he one day understood, he would always return. He was at this point far too fond of the little bridge and his camping spot beside. Too delighted about sneaking into Moomin’s bedroom through a frayed, knotted ladder. Too happy to deny himself happiness any longer. 

And so here he was again, albeit a little earlier than usual. But that was for a very good reason.

He set his bag down by the stairs and hurried up them, feet light and heart fluttering. 

The landing was a tricky thing to navigate silently, but Snufkin was a dab hand. He skipped over hidden weaknesses in the wood and skirted passed delicate flower vases, tail whipping round close to his body. The final stairs up to Moomin's bedroom were the worst of all and try as he might, Snufkin could not pass them all without one, loud falter.

He froze, body as tense as a dormouse, but long moments passed and the other bedrooms remained quiet, so Snufkin sprang up the final few steps and slipped into Moomintroll’s bedroom.

The sun had crested through the trees and a few stray beams bathed the bedroom in a beautiful golden glow. The long shadows of the clouds passing overhead moved through the room like ghosts, stealing the light from the carpets and bookcases for a moment before breaking their hold and releasing them again in a slow trickle.

The window was closed and kept the inexplicable quiet of a Moomintroll hibernating sealed inside thick walls, and Snufkin’s heart soared to see the mound of thick white fur that lay wrapped up in his covers, breathing slow and deep, safe in his bed.

Snufkin came closer to the side of the bed, looking about for a ways in without causing too much of a disturbance. As if he could sense the mumrik there, Moomin groaned softly and rolled over in his sleep, arm left lying open across a perfect Snufkin-sized side of the mattress.

Giddy, Snufkin shrugged off his coat and curled up underneath Moomin’s arm, pulling the covers off of him and around them both. He nuzzled his face into Moomin’s chest and lay there, listening to the sound of the slow, rhythmic heartbeat that had so often lulled him to sleep. If he waited, he would eventually hear it start to stutter and strengthen, just before Moomin woke up.

Contentment settled in his bones and he sighed, revelling in his little infiltration, and how Moomin would now wake to find him here, suitably warmed up and happy to see him. Because this year, more than any other, it was important his arrival went smoothly. 

For you see, at the tail end of last year, something old and bitter had fled from the periphery of Snufkin's mind and left something quite wonderful in its place.

And quite immediately, he had begun to plan. 

The warm body under him rumbled, and Snufkin pressed his mouth to it to quell his laughter. The heartbeat stuttered and strengthened, and Moomintroll began to wake up. 

Snufkin buried further into his chest, easing him into lucidity with little squeezes around his stomach. 

"Am I still dreaming?" Moomin murmured.

Snufkin smiled, his mind lingering over the wooden ring in his pocket.

"Would it be a good dream?" he asked. 

"Oh, the best." 

Snufkin chuckled. "Then yes, dream on. I'll still be here when you wake again."

Moomintroll opened his eyes and gazed upon him. "I think I'd rather have you where I can smell you." 

"You wound me." 

"You smell like salt." 

"I went sailing." 

"You did?" 

"Hmm. Two months ago."

"Oh, _Snuf_ kin!" Moomin threw his head back, his snout wrinkling. "You're too much."

"Oh, am I?" Snufkin nuzzled closer to the troll's laughing mouth, chest blazing. "Am I _really?"_

"Yes! Yes and I shan't kiss you until you've had a bath!"

"Oh, that's too bad," Snufkin preened. "I was so hoping your love was unconditional, unmarred by such things as cleanliness. Tell me, my dear, do I love you any less when your fur is green and your knots matted?"

"I rather think you love me more," Moomintroll replied, clinging to him. "Oh, I have missed you so." 

Snufkin's eyes brightened, and his voice came out thick and true as he said, "And I you, my dove. Desperately."

Moomin's snout came down then, a little frown taking over his features. "Your winter?"

"Wonderful. In fact, I may have begun my greatest adventure yet."

"Oh! You will tell me all about it?" 

"I think you shall know it quite well, soon enough." Snufkin smiled. "Moomintroll, why did you never tell me how beautiful the valley was so late in the season?" 

"I never really noticed," Moomin spoke softly. "I was always far too distracted with how beautiful you were to bother with the valley."

"You sentimental old fool."

"Yes, well! I've only just woken up. What's your excuse?" 

Snufkin snorted unattractively and Moomin kissed him.

The sunlight bloomed over the bed, chasing away the last of the cold. It shone on Moomin’s fur so, that Snufkin had to keep his eyes closed for fear of blinding. He lay back on the mattress, his heart an open wound and took a deep breath. 

“Do you know -“ he began “- the story of the Owl and the Pussycat?”

“I’m afraid I may have missed that one,” Moomin murmured into his neck. “Is it a kind story?”

“The kindest,” Snufkin gasped, trying to keep hold of his head. “It’s a love story.”

“Ah,” Moomin’s mouth slid across his throat. “I see.”

“I c-could tell it to you, if you’d like.”

Moomintroll caught his arching spine in paw, guiding it softly back down to the heat of the mattress. “I’d like nothing more.”

But for the rest of the morning, nothing more was said and Snufkin didn’t even mind terribly much. He just absently made a plan to give his proposal speech another go a little later, and let his love welcome him home. 

After all, he reasoned, he’d been waiting to tell Moomin this story all winter, so what was another few hours, really? 

**Author's Note:**

> A comfort fic. For the soul. Life is hard but snufmin origins are soft and just what I think we all need right now.  
> I don’t know WHAT it is with me and marriage right now but it’s where my last two one shots have ended up and honestly I’m not going to try and steer it any differently. They deserve a happy ending. We all do
> 
> Also google the pussycat poem. It’s hilarious and sweet and contains the words ‘elegant fowl’ which I just think suits snufkin very well


End file.
